


Strike!

by Turtlewatcher



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Coworkers - Freeform, Gen, Modern AU, Office, bowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26914399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtlewatcher/pseuds/Turtlewatcher
Summary: Minor ships sprinkled throughoutInter office bowling tournamentEnds with soup
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Kudos: 1





	Strike!

**8:12 am**

Cheap laminate counter pressed hard into Armin’s lower back, but his head still nodded sleepily into his chest. The coffee maker was the only thing keeping him half alert with its sad hissing and sputtering. He was sure that it was one pot away from giving out entirely.

A quiet huff got him to open his eyes. Historia was typing so hard he could practically hear her fingers hitting the tiny flat screen. 

“Armin, you won’t _believe_ this.”

“Believe what?”

“Ymir is playing against us tonight!”

“Seriously?”

“Marcel is out sick and Reiner and Bertolt asked her to sub for him.”

“And she said yes?” Armin shook his head while dumping as much sugar and cream as possible into his mug. It was a delicate balance. One, the coffee must not cool too much. Two, the sugar must in fact dissolve. 

“Couldn’t they play with three,” he asked.

Admittedly, stirring was a chore. The black turned quickly to an acceptable pale tan. Historia huffed louder this time.

“Apparently they said it would throw off their groove.”

“I’m surprised she would compete against you.”

“She’s going to compete against all of us!”

“Sure, but she’s not engaged to us.”

Historia clunked her mug down as defiantly as was possible to clunk one without breaking it. She reached for the creamer.

“I think she’s messing with me. Maybe she wants to throw off our game or something. I don’t think she’s over last year.”

Well… that had just been a misunderstanding. 

He held out the paper cup full of flimsy wooden sticks for Historia, receiving a grateful smile and nod as she grabbed two. Sure, the green initiatives at the office were a good thing, but they really couldn’t afford popsicle sticks or something sturdier? He had broken so many of these stupid stirrers in the wake of his sweet tooth. Besides, if corporate actually cared about the environment they would have listened to his suggestions regarding going paper free.

He shrugged at Historia. “For all we know, we won’t even play them.”

They were interrupted before either could continue debating outcomes.

 _Surprise, surprise,_ he thought when Jean entered the break room looking smug. 

“That’s right, ‘cause you know we’re going to win. That cup is ours.” 

Marco was close behind. They had obviously just barely gotten in and no doubt their late arrival was Jean’s fault per usual. Marco really ought to know better than to carpool with him by now. 

Then again, Jean really ought to have figured out by now why Marco put up with being late nearly every day. Maybe one day Marco would just snap and tell him. Armin hoped if that scenario happened it would be on a weekday. He always did have a weak spot for office drama. As long as it didn’t involve him.

“Besides,” Marco added, “who says they will even make it to the last round? Zeke’s team might beat them.”

“Not likely. Bertolt will knock them out. He always strikes, and Annie and Reiner are consistent high scorers, too,” Armin reasoned. 

Jean scoffed. “Zeke always rolls kick-ass scores, too. What about that, huh?”

“It could be close, I guess,” he conceded. 

_Unlikely, though,_ he still thought. Pieck and Porco were both wild cards. Porco was formidable, but Pieck liked riling him up too much for their team’s own good. Add to that, she herself didn’t seem to place high priority on winning the dinky excuse for a trophy that got passed around this time of year. 

Which probably spoke positively as to her priorities in life.

“But you still think they’ll lose.”

Armin nodded at his non-question. Jean crossed his arms.

“Alright, smart ass, how come you guys would win against them if they’re so good, then?”

“We’ve got Mikasa!” Historia burst enthusiastically, before sparing him a soft glance, “Oh, no offense, Armin.” 

“None taken.”

Mikasa really was their ace, after all. Armin was an okay player only kept on the team by a belligerent Eren who refused to let him sit back and watch. Really, they would have it in the bag if he would just let him quit already.

“We’ll just have to wait for tonight!” Marco concluded with a cheerful tone.

Armin reluctantly pushed off from the cabinets. Someone needed to actually work around here. As he vacated the break room he heard Historia tell them about Ymir and after that came Jean’s cursing. Yes, that was an unfortunate twist should she decide to really play, but there was always a chance she would blow it off. They would have been much better off giving Bertolt a second turn. Were they banking on emotionally shaking Historia? 

It was a poor strategy either way.

**11:43 am**

“What makes them so sure they’re going to beat us, much less Bertolt, Reiner, and Annie?”

He spoke with his hands, trying to ignore the dumb, cute half smile on Marco’s face. His sandwich was basically untouched.

“And Ymir,” Marco supplied, “But if you ask me, I think Armin might have something up his sleeve again this year.”

“So you think they’re going to beat us?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Jean sighed, forehead falling with a harder thud than he had intended onto the wooden park table. 

“No, they probably will. They might even win. The only reason they didn’t last year is because Eren got them disqualified. What an idiot.” 

The last part he muttered under his breath, but Marco still chuckled at it.

“Who knows, maybe we’ll win this year. We’ve got you, Jean.”

His heart skipped a beat. Why did Marco have to say things like that? From the corner of his eye, Jean thought he could make out a blush above the dimples. Underneath the field of freckles.

“Jean?”

“Hm?”

“You ok?”

He sat up finally and picked up his sandwich. 

“I’m fine, it’s just a game.”

“Oh. You just zoned out for a second there.”

Had he?

**12:52 pm**

“IPA, Sash?”

“Whatever is fine, I just need our food to get here before I literally die.”

“Ah, you know what, we’ll just do iced tea. Thanks.” 

He handed his menu back to the waiter. It was a weekday anyway. 

“Why did we take lunch so late?”

“You had to send that email,” he reminded her. His stomach complained for him.

“Right. Ugh. The worst. Hey, do you want to do something this weekend?”

“What about Nicolo?”

“What about him? I’ll see him tomorrow. I want to go see that new horror movie, the, what’s it called? You know what I’m talking about. And Nicolo hates scary movies. And he hates sharing popcorn.”

“No,” Connie corrected, “He hates sharing popcorn with _you_. You’re a concession devouring monster. I won’t share either, I’m getting my own this time.”

“You’re just going to have to get over it, Connie, it’s been like a month.”

He rolled his eyes and fiddled with the straw wrapper. Jeez, when was _he_ supposed to find a date? It was impossible. Their receptionist was really, really cute, but how was he supposed to ask her out if he could barely even talk to her? A paper wad glanced off his forehead.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

“I still can’t talk to Mina. She gets me all nervous.”

“Aw, just go say hi, Connie. You don’t have to bring her flowers or anything. Be casual. We can invite her to lunch tomorrow. You want me to invite her? I’ll be your wingman. Woman.”

“Would you? Is that too weird?”

“Nah, I’ll ask. Oh, Christ,” she muttered, glancing at her phone, “Jean is calling me. I swear if it’s about the bowling game I’m going to throw this phone.”

“They’re taking it way too seriously,” he agreed. 

**2:21 pm**

Mikasa internally sighed at the sound of a rubber band being loosed from the cubicle in front of her. Was she the only one who did any work around here? 

“Eren, you should get back to work,” she said flatly. 

He popped up with an eye roll.

“Ok, _mom._ God.”

He ducked just in time to dodge Jean’s return fire. 

“Yeager, you’re going down tonight,” Jean called from his own cubicle. 

Like these little half walls could keep their bickering apart. Why management hadn’t moved them apart already, she never could figure out. Maybe they were bored, too, and liked watching two grown men act like children? They could have at least not put her between them.

“You wish!”

Eren unleashes another rubber band. A glimpse of blonde pulled her attention away. Armin’s eyes poked up above one of her own teeny walls. He raised an eyebrow, but she could tell he was smiling. She smiled back and was in the process of sending a friendly wave when something glanced off her hand with a sting.

How quickly they all got back to their keyboards when she stood abruptly from her chair. These people.

Jean could really do with a lesson in aim. 

She lined her hands up, thumb to index, the thin band held taught. What an easy target. If he weren’t pretending to work, pretending he hadn’t accidentally snapped her with this same piece of rubber, he would see it coming.

If.

Jean’s yelp was more satisfying than she had expected. Armin sniggered and from where she stood she could see his whole smile this time. He always did have a nice smile. 

**7:32 pm**

It was down to the wire. Historia was about to take her turn and after that Bertolt would probably roll another strike. The only way her fiance’s team could win is if Bertolt ruined his perfect game. Ymir had brought her A-game with the full intention of avenging herself from last tournament’s events. From the soda and the pretzel and the _cheese_. 

That is, until she cast a look to the next lane. 

The whole team leaned forward in their seats. Eren’s hands clenched around the fiberglass chair he perched in, as if he was holding himself down. He probably was. As Historia began her approach, Mikasa’s hand flew to Armin’s knee. 

Historia now took all of Ymir’s attention. She was in full competitive mode and laser focused. Her blue eyes could burn holes into those pins and suddenly the only thing Ymir wanted was for it to pay off for her. She could already imagine the way Historia would shout and laugh if their team won. 

Apparently Eren couldn’t take it anymore. He leapt out of his seat the moment the ball hit the lane. But Ymir only saw that in her periphery and promptly ignored it. Historia’s fists balled adorably as she silently rooted her ball onwards as if any cheerleading could influence its path at this point.

The ball needed no such encouragement. As the last pin clattered, Historia fist-pumped the air and sent the sweetest smile her way. Ymir suddenly regretted ever agreeing to competing. Even though she was the reason Historia’s team could be at risk of losing this year, Historia had still turned to Ymir first to share her triumph. 

Ymir sent a confident smile right back. Bertolt was lining up his shot now, but that didn’t mean all was lost. It was only lost if he got a strike. And wouldn’t it be a real shame if something messed him up?

“Him? Really? Wow, Annie, I didn’t think you were into giants.”

She said it just loud enough. Annie sent her a glare for only a moment before catching on. They both watched Bertolt’s eyes flick away from her and his body stiffen. 

Wow, that seriously worked? 

Annie’s hand flew in aggravation to her face and shook her head the moment the ball clunked down, already off center. Ymir turned around just long enough to catch Historia’s stunned face and give her a quick wink. Reiner was patting Bertolt’s back in comfort while the latter’s fingers were scrunching up his hair. She almost felt bad.

A squeal left a ring in her right ear and arms wrapped her from behind her bank of chairs. Any guilt she might have been tempted to feel was easily chased away by the smile stretching across Historia’s perfect lips. 

**9:48 pm**

Annie tucked herself into a quiet corner of their booth and glared silently back at Reiner for a moment before returning to her bottle. She didn’t even like beer, but seeing as she had just wasted three months of her life bowling with the two idiots in front of her, what the hell. 

Armin and Mikasa sat awfully close in another booth where they were celebrating their victory with Eren, Historita, and the traitor, Ymir. Not that Annie blamed her, nor disliked her for it. She had never joined this bowling team out of a desire to win. Her desire was very much rooted elsewhere, but he was very unfortunately and obviously otherwise occupied by Mikasa.

Reiner sent her another jealous look that made her want to dump her beer right over his head. If he had any brains at all, he would have noticed ages ago the way that Bertolt kept shooting nervous glances his way. 

Ymir’s little trick had worked, but not for the reason she probably thought. Bertolt was so obviously in love with Reiner it made Annie sick, frankly. Ymir just got lucky that the towering bundle of nerves was, well, that. Besides, he had probably been more distracted by the ‘giant’ comment than anything else. He hated when people called out his height. 

Whatever. Why was she even still there? It definitely wasn’t because she wanted to watch Eren wave that shitty little trophy in Jean’s face. 

“I’m leaving,” she muttered, only earning a nod from Bertolt and a fresh dirty look from Reiner. But inches from bench-seat freedom, Pieck plopped down, effectively blocking her escape route.

“Excuse me,” Annie said flatly.

“Don’t think I will.”

Pieck proceeded to give her one of those… looks. Annie narrowed her eyes, instantly suspicious. 

“So, Porco and I were supposed to bring Marcel soup after this. The thing is, he’s on your way home, you know?”

“You want me... to bring Marcel soup?” 

Was Pieck serious right now? Why on earth would she bring him soup at - she checked her phone - nearly ten at night? 

“Great, thanks,” Pieck nodded and smiled while she said it, then slipped back to the booth next to them.

“Hey Porco,” Annie leaned over the back of the booth, “why does Pieck care if I bring your brother soup?”

Porco raised an eyebrow to Pieck and shook his head in amusement. 

“Cause. He’s got a thing for you.”

Pieck’s face turned to one of surprising distress. Annie could nearly laugh to see her looking like anything besides easy and relaxed.

“Pock!”

Porco shrugged and sent her a smirk. Annie looked one last time at the group living it up on the other end of the bar; waving around a dumb piece of plastic that would gather dust on someone’s desk for the next year. 

“I’ll bring him soup,” Annie said, finally escaping the confines of the booth.

If nothing else, it was worth the incredulous looks on Porco and Pieck’s faces.


End file.
